Thread by @AreaMan20410331

For My #USMC friends on here. I give you shit, but I know this a very sacred time of year for you, so I wrote this: T'was the Night before Founding....

Twas the night before Founding, when all thro' the Palms,
Not a leatherneck was stirring, not even for psalms;
The Boots were hung by the Barracks with care,
In hopes that St. Chesty soon would be there;

The privates were nestled all snug in their racks,
While visions of crayons danc'd just like snacks,
And Gunny in his brown round, and I in my cap,
Had just settled in for a long duty watch nap-

When out on the Parade there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from Porn Hub to see what’s the matter.
Away to the arms room I flew like a flash,
Tore open the locker, and drew out a Klash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the NVGs clarity to objects below;
When, what to my Gatt-Damned eyes should I see,
But a miniature squad, eight tiny men of the USMC,

With a little old Gen’rul, so lively and full,
I knew in a moment it must be Ol’ Pull.
More rapid than eagles his fireteam they came,
And he cursed, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

"Now! Fuckhead, now! Asshole, now! Lance, and Boot,-
"On! Dickbutt, on! Cupid, on! Sargent Now Shoot!
"To the top of the Hooch! And over the wall!
Now smash away! smash away! smash away all!"

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they blow it sky-high;
So up to the hooch-top the fireteam they flew,
With rucks full of booze - and St. Chesty too:

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The cursing and shouting of each little boot.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the ladder St. Chesty came with a bound:

He was dress'd all in dungarees, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with gunpowder and soot;
A bundle of booze was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a Lance just opening his pack:

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His chin jutted out, just like a rock,
And the brows on his forehead ticked like a clock;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a war face, and a little round gut
That shook when he kicked you, in your left nut:

He was stubby and stern, a right pissed off old elf,
And I shat when I saw him in spite of myself;
A growl in his throat and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the boots; even the platoon’s jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his brim
And giving a nod, out the hatch he went.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he marched out of sight-
Happy Birthday Marines, and to all a good night!

Simple Fidelity!